


A Study of Marriage in Four Acts

by epaynter



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22786645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epaynter/pseuds/epaynter
Summary: Four small acts of love between Raymond J. Holt and Kevin M. Cozner that, for all intents and purposes, display the strength of their marriage.
Relationships: Kevin Cozner/Ray Holt
Comments: 30
Kudos: 163





	1. Act I

Winter of 1989, New York. 

It is unusual being incapacitated in another’s apartment- even if the other, in this instance, is his boyfriend with the same level of cleanliness- as functioning in the space is less second nature in comparison to that of his own. The thought comes to him while he is laying in bed, as directed, on a sunny December afternoon having had reached for his Lamy pen that he kept on his nightstand at home only to find a Caran d’Ache pen in its place.

Raymond had been shot in the line of duty and his boyfriend, Kevin, had convinced him to stay with him during his mandatory medical leave.

Ironically, he had never been one to capitulate when it came to injury and recovery; one time, he had received several blows to the head and ribs from an undercover mission involving a drug trafficking ring and his boyfriend at the time, Frederick, had attempted to reason that he should take time off to stay with Raymond in their shared apartment to observe his cranial trauma. He politely- and factually, but somehow he had still been told he doesn’t come off well in this story- let him know that his specialized degree in obstetrics and gynaecology did not magically deem him a neurologist who could provide any legitimate diagnosis and therefore he would be fine entirely by himself.

For some reason, when he had been lying in a hospital bed, quite high on morphine, and his lanky, beautiful college professor showed up and said, in summation, the exact quote is a little blurry: "Please come stay with me."

He had replied, without hesitation: "Okay. I’m in love with you."

He also vaguely remembers the nurse being present and him adding, "I’m a homosexual," for her benefit. She might have said alright, but it also could have been Kevin. He has a wonderfully soft voice and Raymond been very, very high.

"How are you feeling? Do you need anything?" Kevin mumbles beside him.

Raymond must have stirred him awake with his attempts at propping up his pillows with both elbows. He had purposefully been scooting them with fifty percent less force in the hopes of allowing his already sleep-deprived academic a few more hours of undisrupted rest. Task failed, it seems.

"I am fine," He says, mid scoot, "I'm working on the daily crossword," He glances down at his stomach where he had placed the folded newspaper during his struggle for a comfortable position, "189 down; to cause or bring about- ten letters."

"Effectuate."

"193 down; the brother-in-law of Arthur Conan Doyle and fellow crime author- seven letters."

"Hornung."

"205 down; a short, lively piece of music which is often part of a longer piece- seven letters."

"Scherzo and you know that," Kevin is looking at him now. He routinely sleeps on his side, facing Raymond. He had previously enlightened Kevin, in great detail including a few studies on the subject as scientific evidence, on the physical benefits of sleeping on his back but it hadn’t made an impact.

The sun is pressed against the cream-coloured curtains of the bedroom window, creating a warm and rectangle-shaped source of light on their- _Kevin’s, not his_ \- white, ruffled sheets that they currently occupied. The blue of his eyes is heightened in the contrast of colours. His light brown hair is mused and there is a hint of ginger stubble forming along his jawline, an inquisitive eyebrow is raised, "Here, Raymond. Let me help you."

Before Raymond can protest- which is exactly what he had been planning to do because he feels capable of scooting, mind you- Kevin pulls himself into a sitting position, planting both arms around Raymond’s torso, and pushes the stack of pillows beneath him upwards in one swift motion. His frustration is soothed by the immediate sensation of comfort.

"Thank you," Raymond says.

Kevin stares at him for a long moment, unmoving. His dress shirt is crumpled from their nap with a single button undone at the top, the sleeves still neatly folded just below the elbow, "At the hospital, you were incredibly high on pain killers."

His heart, despite his internal chastising, began to drum against his ribcage. He knows this was an inevitable discussion, however, he thought he might have more time to prepare, "I was."

Good start.

"Do you remember anything?"

There are plenty of ways that he could navigate this conversation. Primarily, he could lie and say that he has no memory of the event, thus giving him a free pass and more time to gauge if the sentiments he accidentally blurted out were mutual. Sure, it isn’t as if he doesn’t think Kevin loves him; he is a logical man who wouldn’t have committed to being in a relationship if he hadn’t been romantically certain of it and they had been together for exactly four hundred and thirty-two days.

However, Raymond had been in relationships far longer and never- not even a fraction- felt how he did with the man currently straddling him with both his arms and his legs. He has never even said those words before. Hence the concern.

"Yes. I do. I…said that I am in love with you," Sometimes he surprises even himself. No better time than the present, "I didn’t say it because I was high- well, actually, I did say it _at that moment_ because I was high, I would have much rather chosen a more appropriate time to do so, more specifically, one where Nurse Patty wasn't in the room- I said it because it’s true and it has been taunting me for months because I haven't felt this way about another human being before."

_Logic ceases to function when I think about you. The idea of losing you is unbearable and my lungs want to give out at the idea of having to live in a world where someone else makes you laugh._

There is a stillness.

Relationships, for Raymond, have always been practical, the sum of two compatible individuals in an agreed-upon arrangement, and easy to end. While compatible in many ways, the structure of his overall belief had been pulled out from underneath his feet after meeting Kevin.

Raymond takes a sharp intake of breath and glances down, "Well, I think that 218 down must be-"

Kevin kisses him then. His hands are cupped around Raymond’s cheeks gently as he does so and it is brief but renders Raymond a little dizzy when it ends. He should drink more water, he reminds himself as an afterthought.

"I’m sorry- I was just memorializing you saying those words to me," Kevin says, slightly breathless and with a hint of pink across cheeks and the bridge of his nose, "I can’t imagine this world without you and that is terrifying- this," He brushes his thumb against Raymond’s bandages, "is terrifying. I’m in love with you as well and I don’t want to lose you."

His heart could have burst if it was not an organic organ incapable of doing so.

"You won’t," He replies. He takes Kevin’s hand, Kevin’s focus, away from the wound and weaves their fingers together, "Would you like to know the answer to 218 down?"

"Apodictic. I read the hint upside down."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The premise of this piece is the idea of what constitutes a marriage outside of the legality of a ceremony. It covers four moments throughout the years of their relationship, some small and some significant, first one starting in 1989 and a final one set in 2020 (which is now a separate story titled 'In the Midst of Tedium').


	2. Act II

Spring of 1996, New York. 

Kevin had been feeling under the weather and the deadline for his research project is approaching at a rapid rate. A rate that felt far more rapid than his current walking speed from his car to his classroom.

The remaining snow had melted a week prior, however, the mornings had retained the biting cold winds of winter. It whips at his exposed cheekbones and it sends a shiver down Kevin’s spine.

_"Where are you going?"  
_

_"It is half-past seven- I’m going to work, as usual, Detective."  
_

_"Inadvisable with only an overcoat. Take the scarf draped over the far left hook of the wall mantel."_

Kevin tucks his chin further into the soft, warm fabric cocooned around his neck. He doesn’t recall either of them purchasing this navy, cotton scarf but he had been distracted as of late. His parents had forgotten, _supposedly_ , to invite him to his grandmother’s funeral. His project, in its final stages, had yet to reach a satisfying conclusion that he believed to be presentation worthy. For the last two days, his body went from ‘burning from the inside out’ to ‘pushed into a frozen lake’ at any given moment. Even his recent dreams mock him endlessly in an ancient Greek dialect.

The building floods his senses with hot, dry air as he enters. His ears ring incessantly as he trudges to the elevator.

The next day, his detective has already left for work when Kevin manages to get himself downstairs.

He doesn’t feel better but he doesn’t feel worse so he considers it a small victory. His body, however, did not seem to be recovering through any amount of sleep he provides and the exhaustion prickles at his skin.

He collapses into his routine kitchen chair and rubs his palms against his eyes. When he is done, he notices a folded piece of paper laid out on the placemat before him.

_Dear Kevin M. Cozner,_

_While you slept, I took your temperature several times over the course of the night and the mean of these numbers was a staggering one hundred and one point four degrees Fahrenheit._

_I have left you an assortment of over-the-counter medications to help decrease the fever along with a towel to wrap around the bag of frozen peas I purchased and placed in the freezer, your most comfortable clothes are washed and folded, and they have been placed on a light read (as it does contain images) comparing the historical progression of libraries in different cultures._

_I phoned Margo, who was in agreement that you should not be attending work in your condition based on her interactions with you yesterday, and she has sent out a class cancellation notice in your stead. Margo also stated that she was going to drop off a little "surprise" for you in the afternoon. I have no idea what that means but I’m going to assume that you do._

_If you are reading this and are at all angry with me, please be advised that you were arguing with yourself about the dangers of eating soup with a fork while I attempted to keep the thermometer in your mouth, alternating between Latin and French._

_Believe me to be, my dear professor,_

_Very sincerely yours,_

_Raymond J. Holt_

_P.S. To prevent you from any alarm later this evening, I wanted it to be known that I shaved off my mustache this morning. I was told yesterday by a barber whom I arrested for the brutal murder of his wife that it is no longer era-appropriate._

Kevin isn’t sure if it is the fever; there is a lot to unpack in this letter with the highest priority at the reveal of his mustache-less Raymond. He sifts through the care package and a smile tugs at his mouth despite himself.

In the afternoon, Margo does stop by to see him. She tells him a story about how she broke her hip at the end of a month-long trip to Prague and places two white pills in his hand.

 _"Don’t worry, it’s just Vicodin,"_ She had said, _"It will help reduce the fever and take the edge off. I had a few left after my recovery."_

He had been wrapped up in a blanket wearing his freshly washed clothes by then, his head still imitating the sensation of being pried apart a crowbar, so he had thrown them into his mouth instantly and downed a full glass of water.

The libraries are _magnificent_. Some embellished in marble statues, carved into muscular, curly-haired men, some lined in gold. The pages he adores the most are the understated ones. Walls of books, wooden floorboards, ones where your shoes would echo mutely with each step. He traces the outlines with his fingers and wonders if he should fly there to see it in person. It would be a…didactical sabbatical.

He giggles. The living room seems to sway rhythmically back and forth, the vibrancy of each colour bouncing off each reflective surface in the overhead artificial light.

The sudden rattle of the front doorknob delights him.

There he is. Raymond, _sans moustache_ , with his jacket draped over his arm and, lord, how his dress shirt is a complimentary fitted cut to his broad torso. He is as chiselled as a…statue. The statue? He isn’t sure.

"At last, my husband- not legally speaking but we both know the law is garbage and homophobic so I’ll say it anyway- has returned in all of his bare-faced glory," Kevin exclaims and slams the hardcover book shut on his lap, "I would come to you to feel your face but my legs feel as if they don’t have any skeletal integrity. Illogical, I know, _and yet_ , here I am."

"Kevin," Raymond looks concerned and Kevin cannot fathom why, "Did Margo drop in earlier?"

"Yes. She told a strangely detailed tale about her hip displacement in Paris- no, wait. Prague. It was Prague. She also gave me some of her remaining Vicodin."

"Ah. So that was the ‘surprise’ she had been referencing," Raymond is muffled by the closet as Kevin listens to the shuffle of hangers, "How are you feeling, medically speaking? I can clearly see that you are as high as Icarus."

"Ἴκαρος is a myth, Raymond. I am quite real and have the same gravitational laws as you," Kevin replies, "However, medically speaking, I am fine. Could you come and sit with me for a moment? I would like to touch your upper lip please."

He does so and Kevin is entranced. He traces along the smooth surface and across the philtrum, back and forth, to each corner of his mouth, "You could be in this textbook, you know. Not as a library, _obviously_ , but as a work of art. They could carve you out of marble- I mean, I could try but I’m sure you remember our pottery class last month."

"I do remember. You tried to make a bowl and the end result was a cross between a vase and tumbler glass- and I take it you like this new look. Let me take your temperature."

His eyes are so warm that Kevin thinks he could melt in them.

"Thank you."

"For what? If anyone, you should be thanking Margo for your current state although I can’t say that I condone her drugging my feverish professor with prescription painkillers not prescribed to him by his physician."

"For taking care of me," Kevin murmurs, "You always have. You…are a good boy."

"A good boy?"

Could Raymond look more incredulous right now? It is _clearly_ a compliment.

"Mhm," Kevin replies, "On an unrelated note; what are your thoughts on purchasing a dog? I’m quite fond of those ones with the stubby legs."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Margo is his friend that we see briefly in Season 4 in the episode titled "Moo-Moo" and I thought Holt's frustration with her was hilarious so I ran with it.


	3. Act III

Summer of 2011, New York. 

Raymond can remember a time when he was fifteen during summer break where Debbie, age ten, went through a phase of playing dress up in a white summer dress while pretending to recite vows to Mike Turner, a boy from the neighborhood, in the bathroom mirror.

He had told her in a matter-of-fact manner that the divorce rate was increasing steadily and marriage was just a societal construct that manipulated people into believing that a piece of paper was the only way to prove you ‘truly’ wanted to spend the rest of your life with someone.

She had burst into tears, threw one of her flipflops at him, and ran to her room after yelling: "No girl will ever marry you, stupid!"

She had been right by all accounts (well, except for the stupid portion of the insult- he took offence to that to this day), unbeknownst to her at the time, but the general gist of the remark had felt like a depressing truth that he tried to avoid thinking about as any self-aware gay teenager would in the mid-seventies.

"Husband," He murmurs, twisting his ring slowly around his finger.

Legally, rightfully, _finally_ married.

"We really should have turned on the air conditioning before we left this afternoon," He can hear _his husband_ say from the hallway as he sits on the end of their bed captivated by his own finger, "It’s sweltering up here."

"Cheddar seems to be in agreement," He replies, "He is currently hogging all of the cool air coming from our bedroom floor vent."

Cheddar’s ears perk up at the sound of his own name.

"Your mother left us a voicemail while we were out."

"Yes, she is regretful that she couldn’t attend the impromptu post-nuptial gathering at _Les Brumes du Soirée_. She wants to have dinner with us next week to celebrate."

"Well, it was _very_ impromptu. And that sounds lovely."

Raymond chooses his next words carefully, "Have you spoken to Martin yet?"

He can count the number of times he had met the immediate members of the Cozner family on one hand, excluding the instances with Martin Cozner on separate occasions. They had been rigid and meticulous every time as well as distant and pointed towards him in particular. He had been already familiar at interacting with people either uncomfortable by his sexuality, the colour of his skin, or both so it had not fazed him in the slightest. However, it made Kevin tense and upset each time for days afterwards, on his behalf, no matter how many times he had insisted that it wasn’t worth the energy to do so. He tends not to bring the topic of Kevin’s parents into a conversation unless it is absolutely necessary as it often did more harm than good- to Kevin, that is, and that is more than enough reason for Raymond.

They are hardly pleasant to Kevin either- which had been the most difficult part for him to witness during those social gatherings- but Kevin never took notice of their behaviour and it had taken him until the third instance to realize that Kevin never noticed because that is all he had ever known. Raymond wouldn’t say he had a _particularly_ affectionate relationship with his own mother or his father when he had been alive, however, the Cozners were another level of emotionally detached.

"Not yet, he is away at a conference in Chicago. I will phone him tomorrow," Kevin says after a long pause. Raymond wonders if Kevin is trying to appease him or if he is distracted by something else entirely, "Do you know where we put that 1962 Château Lafleur Bordeaux, _mon mari_?"

"Yes, I have it in here," Raymond says. He had brought it up from the cellar when they first arrived home along with a corkscrew and two long-stemmed Riedel glasses and had placed it on their dresser, "What on earth are you doing?"

"If I said that I had been looking for the Bordeaux, would you believe me?"

"Looking for an almost six hundred dollar bottle of wine somewhere on _our humid upper floor_? Don’t make me laugh," Raymond scoffs.

"Fine. You’re right, that would be atrocious," Kevin admits, "I was quickly scribbling down some ventures of thought related to work that I didn’t want to forget. I’m here now, sorry for that."

Kevin appears in the doorway just as he finishes his sentence, there is a flush along both of his angular cheekbones.

"You never have to apologize for your academic pursuits, dear," Raymond responds, "You know I find the thought of you in feats of educational epiphanies quite stimulating."

He is rewarded with the suggestive raise of an eyebrow, "Shall we?"

Kevin motions to the bottle as he begins to shrug out of his blazer and Raymond is more than happy to oblige him. He makes quick work of the cork with several twists and a muted pop.

"This feels surreal."

"It does," Raymond leaves the wine to rest as he turns back to face his husband, "as we have been married for decades in every other respect."

He walks towards Kevin, who had been in the midst of unclasping his cufflinks and who had hummed in agreement, and gently begins to unknot his white-spotted burgundy tie with both hands. He can feel Kevin’s eyes on him as he retains his focus on the task.

"When did you know?"

His voice is so soft. Raymond looks at him then as he slides the tie off his shoulders.

There is no uncertainty in his eyes, only genuine curiosity intertwined with adoration. If hearts could melt, his would have done so at this very moment. The question causes a specific memory to flood into his mind.

He can recall the evening that they met in great detail. The temperature of the room, the dimmed lighting casted shadows in every corner, the live music had not been to his tastes- there was a young stocky woman singing an acoustic rendition of the year’s current popular music hit ‘I _Wanna_ Dance With Somebody’ with far too much vibrato, a group of men sat in a cloud of smoke near the small stage bursting in frequent fits of uproarious laughter, and his half drank glass of wine was perched on his left as he waited in a booth far from the commotion with a clear view of the entrance.

It had been a quaint choice made by himself; it was not a high-class bar by any means, however, it was far nicer and cleaner than most dives his peers frequented. It had been an impulse decision to ask out a man over the telephone to begin with, _at work no less_ , so playing it safe with a societally unremarkable location had not been a question. He had known nothing at all about Kevin Cozner at the time.

It is a strange thought now- there had been a time where he had lived in the world without the knowledge that Kevin existed. That he could have missed a single phone call and he would be sitting here, still convinced that there was no difference between ‘love’ and ‘being in love’.

Sure, there are billions of people in the world- countless interesting, attractive, intelligent individuals to cross paths with and the most attractive and interesting of them all could throw themselves at his feet and- although it would be obviously very flattering- they could never compare to the sheer desire- _romantically, platonically, sexually, every kind of desire that existed_ \- Raymond has for his husband.

Kevin could, and had done so on many occasions, make him feel ten feet tall with a simple compliment. When Kevin smiles at him, genuinely, with creases around his bright blue eyes, the rest of existence feels like background noise.

In any other context, he could break down the sum of another individual’s attractiveness in logic based on their physical appearance, mannerisms, beliefs, habits, and interests.

Kevin is what made Kevin the most beautiful man alive and a calculated score would have no impact on this truth that felt carved into the inside of his chest, underneath his skin.

"I cannot recall a time where I wasn’t certain it would be you," Raymond confesses, "even before Gertie, your existence uprooted everything that I thought was sentimental nonsense. It was always going to be you, Kevin."

Kevin kisses him, placing one hand on his chest and the other at the back of his neck. Raymond covers the hand placed on his chest with his own.

"For the record, Raymond Jacob Holt, I was always going to be yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit cheesy but I think they are owed a small moment of cheesy on the day of their incredibly efficient wedding and, hopefully, they will be having a real one by season eight or so help me god.


	4. Act IV

Fall of 2013, New York.

_"I am being promoted to captain of the ninety-ninth precinct."_

This nearly breathless sentence had been the first one out of Raymond’s mouth when he arrived home several hours ago.

Kevin had been previously engrossed in a photocopy of a historical document when he had heard a car pull into the driveway. The noise snapped him out of his revery and he had been half-way down the staircase in his favorite evening slippers, holding both said document and a hot cup of earl grey, during the exact occurrence.

The front door had closed behind Raymond while supporting his weight as he leaned back against it and Kevin had never seen him so overcome. His fingers were clenched tightly around his briefcase and his eyes had reflected the shimmer of the light above him. The shock had rendered Kevin at a loss for words. Raymond had been too overwhelmed to take notice.

Kevin replays it over and over in his mind even still, as he sits with his husband in their respective living room chairs. Their record player is spinning a favorite vinyl of the American Symphony Orchestra.

_Captain of the ninety-ninth precinct._

"The tentative date of transfer is two weeks from today, however, they will be sending information on the precinct over the next few days so that I can familiarize myself with the current staff. And providing a point of contact as well have I any inquiries prior to my arrival- I believe the name was Sergeant Terrence Jeffords," Raymond says while swirling a glass of Italian rosé without any awareness of the action. He had been doing so for some time and the wine had no aeration requirement.

Eight years he had watched Raymond wait, hope, _yearn_ for the moment he had witnessed in their entryway. The accumulation of countless sleepless nights, false hopes, and subsequent disappointments could not have prepared Kevin for the reality of watching his husband revel in complete and unrestrained triumph _._

"Of course, I will be back in uniform on a daily basis so I suppose I will need to order several additional sets to account for this," Raymond muses.

"That is a delightful benefit," Kevin is beguiled at the idea. It pries his mind away from the incessant cycle of thoughts for a brief moment, "Formal officer attire?"

"Yes," He hears wonder with the slightest inflection of surprise in Raymond’s tone, "I didn’t realize you had such an affinity for the uniform."

"I do when you’re in it."

He intends to sound suggestive but finds himself unable to keep the affection out of his voice and so the result is what he would call _nearly_ flirtatious. It seems to have an impact, however, as Raymond pauses the restless motion of his wine glass and looks at him with dark, focused eyes.

Raymond puts the glass aside and stands abruptly. He extends his hand to Kevin, "You love the second movement of this symphony. Care to dance, Doctor?"

"Do you even have to ask?"

It is not as if he has forgotten his husband's years as a detective and the segregation he had watched Raymond endure. Precincts did not often abide by the common _tolerant_ practices of an office environment and he is under no illusion there is the possibility very little has changed in the last eight years. Raymond is no fool, however, and it would serve no purpose to mention this to him now. The warmth of Raymond’s hand on the small of his back is making his skin tingle through the fabric of his sweater as Raymond leads them languidly.

The second movement is almost always a slower piece in a classical symphony; a quiet comfort before the build-up of the minuet to follow. In this particular piece, Kevin finds himself wishing the adagio could continue for a while longer. Raymond has always been an exceptional dancer. 

"Thank you for celebrating with me," Raymond says, "I can’t imagine it is easy to be on the other end of this and yet, here you are having done nothing but attentively listen to me babble on- not only for the last several hours but _the last several decades_ nonconsecutively. I want you to know, if you don't already, that you can talk to me about any worries you have. I’m not blind to the fact that the advancement of my career comes at a sacrifice."

Kevin could not entertain the notion that there is any sacrifice that could matter more than waking up beside his husband every morning and falling asleep to the rhythm of his pulse, with a single hand resting on his chest, every night. It makes his own chest tighten to think about.

"Nothing will ever make your job less terrifying," He says, "I trust you. I can't say I feel the same about the rest of the world and that uncertainty will always scare me. However, you’re wrong if you think this is difficult for me- watching you earn the position you’ve deserved for far too long is as important to me as it is to you. My frustration with your past colleagues aside, I have never stopped admiring the career path you’ve chosen and I don’t want you tucked away in the public affairs office even if it would keep you safer, Raymond. That isn’t who you are and I know who I married," Kevin smiles softly at him then, "I’m proud of you, _Captain Holt_."

"How in the world did I find you?"

Raymond is looking at him with an expression, a vulnerability, that Kevin had never been privy to in all of their years together. 

"Actually, you didn’t," Kevin corrects _,_ "I found you. And before you try to correct me by arguing that _you_ asking _me_ out infers the opposite, let it be known I disagree based on the circumstances of the phone call that _I_ initiated."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this four times, read episode transcripts on repeat, and rewatched about six Kevin-related episodes, and yet somehow I'm still not entirely satisfied with the end result. Writing characters from a comedy is so interpretive due to the contrasting personality traits occasionally played up for humour which feels like both a blessing and a curse.
> 
> _(2020.03.03) EDIT: I decided to complete this work in four acts instead of five and post the planned fifth one as a separate companion piece. I had gone back and forth on the length of this story when I created the general outline and it wasn't until I started into the last piece that I realized it wasn't cohesive enough to be included as a chapter. Sorry for any confusion!_


End file.
